instead of getting trouble himself, others
around him were swamped with it. The test ships cracked up, one after another,
while Jerry got away without a scratch. Too many cracked up, and the O.M. gave Jerry another vacation, this time a permanent
one.
His reputation waxed great, and doors closed
silently but firmly before him. "Sorry, Mr. Lord, we're not taking on new
men this year." They weren't to be blamed; hadn't something gone wrong by
the time he left the office—not just something, but everything? Nowadays, an
ambulance followed casually wherever he went walking with Ignatz ,
and some innocent bystander usually needed it.
Then
Jerry met Anne Barclay, and the inevitable happened. Anne was the O.M.'s
daughter, and as cute a yard engine as ever strode down the training field of
the Six World Spaceport. Jerry took one look at her, said, "Ah," and
developed a fever. He still had some of his money left, and he could dance,
even if the orchestra always missed their cues when he was on the floor. By the
time he'd known her three weeks, she was willing to say yes; that is, she was
until the O.M. put her wise. Then she remembered that she'd lost the ring her
mother had given her, had tooth trouble, sinus trouble, and a boil on her left
shoulder, all since she met Jerry. With the O.M. helping her imagination along,
she did a little thinking about what married life might lead to; they decided
that a little trip to Venus, with Peter Durnall , the
Old Man's favorite, was just the answer, and that Jerry could cool his heels
and rot.
Not
that they were superstitious, any more than all star-jumpers and their
daughters were; Ignatz understood that. But when too
many coincidences happen, it begins to look a bit shady. Now she was gone, or
at least going, and Jerry was going out on his ear, from her life and from the
hotel. Ignatz swore lustily in lizard language and
crawled out of the pan. He rolled over in a towel, then began helping Jerry pack—a simple
thing, since most of Jerry's wardrobe rested comfortably in old Ike's
pawnshop.
"We'll go to the dock," Jerry
decided. "I'm practically broke, fellow, so we'll sleep in a shed or an
outbuilding if we can slip past the watch. Tomorrow, I'll look for work
again."
He'd been looking for work for months, any
work, but the only job he knew was handling the star-jumpers, or spaceships;
and they had enough natural bad luck without adding Luckless Jerry to the crew. Ignatz wondered what the chances of finding open
garbage pails around the dock were, but he followed meekly enough.
A raw steam pipe led around the shed with the
loose lock at the rear. It happened to be super-hot steam, so Ignatz's sleep was heavy and dreamless, and daylight came
and went unknown. The first thing he knew was when Jerry knocked him down and
dipped him in a cold puddle to wake him up. At least, it smelled like Jerry,
though the face and clothes were all wrong.
The Master grinned down at Ignatz as the water fizzed and boiled. Overnight,
apparently, he had grown a beard,
and his straight hair was a mass of ringlets. Over one eye a scar ran down to his mouth, and pulled his
lips up into a rough
caricature of a smile; and the face was rough and brown, while his clothes
might have been pulled off a refuse
truck.
"Pretty slick, eh, Ignatz ?"
he asked. "Old Ike fixed me up for my watch and ring." He picked the zloaht up and chucked him into a traveling bag. "We can't let them see you
now, so you'll have to stay under cover till we hit berth."
Ignatz hooted questioningly, and Jerry chuckled.
"Sure, we've got a job—keeping the bearings oiled on a space-hopper.
Remember that old tramp who was sleeping here last
night? Well, he'd been a star-jumper till the weed hit him, and his papers were
still clear. I got them for practically nothing, had Ike fix me up, and went
calling today. Our luck's changed again. We're riding out tonight, bound for
Venus!"
Ignatz grunted again. He might have known where
they were bound
around him were swamped with it. The test ships cracked up, one after another,
while Jerry got away without a scratch. Too many cracked up, and the O.M. gave Jerry another vacation, this time a permanent
one.
His reputation waxed great, and doors closed
silently but firmly before him. "Sorry, Mr. Lord, we're not taking on new
men this year." They weren't to be blamed; hadn't something gone wrong by
the time he left the office—not just something, but everything? Nowadays, an
ambulance followed casually wherever he went walking with Ignatz ,
and some innocent bystander usually needed it.
Then
Jerry met Anne Barclay, and the inevitable happened. Anne was the O.M.'s
daughter, and as cute a yard engine as ever strode down the training field of
the Six World Spaceport. Jerry took one look at her, said, "Ah," and
developed a fever. He still had some of his money left, and he could dance,
even if the orchestra always missed their cues when he was on the floor. By the
time he'd known her three weeks, she was willing to say yes; that is, she was
until the O.M. put her wise. Then she remembered that she'd lost the ring her
mother had given her, had tooth trouble, sinus trouble, and a boil on her left
shoulder, all since she met Jerry. With the O.M. helping her imagination along,
she did a little thinking about what married life might lead to; they decided
that a little trip to Venus, with Peter Durnall , the
Old Man's favorite, was just the answer, and that Jerry could cool his heels
and rot.
Not
that they were superstitious, any more than all star-jumpers and their
daughters were; Ignatz understood that. But when too
many coincidences happen, it begins to look a bit shady. Now she was gone, or
at least going, and Jerry was going out on his ear, from her life and from the
hotel. Ignatz swore lustily in lizard language and
crawled out of the pan. He rolled over in a towel, then began helping Jerry pack—a simple
thing, since most of Jerry's wardrobe rested comfortably in old Ike's
pawnshop.
"We'll go to the dock," Jerry
decided. "I'm practically broke, fellow, so we'll sleep in a shed or an
outbuilding if we can slip past the watch. Tomorrow, I'll look for work
again."
He'd been looking for work for months, any
work, but the only job he knew was handling the star-jumpers, or spaceships;
and they had enough natural bad luck without adding Luckless Jerry to the crew. Ignatz wondered what the chances of finding open
garbage pails around the dock were, but he followed meekly enough.
A raw steam pipe led around the shed with the
loose lock at the rear. It happened to be super-hot steam, so Ignatz's sleep was heavy and dreamless, and daylight came
and went unknown. The first thing he knew was when Jerry knocked him down and
dipped him in a cold puddle to wake him up. At least, it smelled like Jerry,
though the face and clothes were all wrong.
The Master grinned down at Ignatz as the water fizzed and boiled. Overnight,
apparently, he had grown a beard,
and his straight hair was a mass of ringlets. Over one eye a scar ran down to his mouth, and pulled his
lips up into a rough
caricature of a smile; and the face was rough and brown, while his clothes
might have been pulled off a refuse
truck.
"Pretty slick, eh, Ignatz ?"
he asked. "Old Ike fixed me up for my watch and ring." He picked the zloaht up and chucked him into a traveling bag. "We can't let them see you
now, so you'll have to stay under cover till we hit berth."
Ignatz hooted questioningly, and Jerry chuckled.
"Sure, we've got a job—keeping the bearings oiled on a space-hopper.
Remember that old tramp who was sleeping here last
night? Well, he'd been a star-jumper till the weed hit him, and his papers were
still clear. I got them for practically nothing, had Ike fix me up, and went
calling today. Our luck's changed again. We're riding out tonight, bound for
Venus!"
Ignatz grunted again. He might have known where
they were bound
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